


Made

by Lunar_Pull



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:53:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Pull/pseuds/Lunar_Pull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're at it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Made Tour trailer.

They’re at it again.

 

They’re supposed to be on guard and keeping an eye on that damn suitcase but it’s their last job and the boys always loved to party more than they loved the game.

 

Or, maybe it’s not all of them.

 

It’s not Jiyong.

 

He’s strung out--nervously shuffling the deck of cards in his hands and trying to keep his eyes on Youngbae, lest the smaller man get into some sort of trouble and give them away.

 

That’s all.

 

It’s not the new lip ring he decided to get a couple of weeks ago, when Seungri had to dye his hair blonde because he’d been spotted on a security camera and Youngbae decided he needed a change, too.

 

Seungri’s somewhere in this party, although Jiyong hasn’t seen him for a while. Seungri tends to disappear into the arms of whatever ladies he can coral into a bedroom or a bathroom stall. It’s usually beautiful models that he has a weakness for, but sometimes, it’s Daesung.

 

Daesung is near the pool.

 

Jiyong can see him circling a group of giggling girls like a bloodthirsty shark--sucking on the ever-present lollipop that eases his oral fixation. He engages them in flirty banter until his eyes light up from underneath his dark bangs.

 

It seems like he’s picked one.

 

He’s crowding close to her against the glass pane of the window and flashing her a cheeky grin. She’s smiling back, letting him put his hand on her waist, and it’s only a matter of time until he disappears from the scene, too.

 

He’s picked one.

 

And Seunghyun is watching from the corner of the room and downing yet another glass of whiskey in one gulp. He ignores the girl hanging off of him, even as she tries to suck on his neck, and there’s something forlorn in his gaze as he stares and stares and stares.

 

Jiyong scoffs.

 

Seunghyun is a fool. Daesung will never love him back.

 

Daesung doesn’t love anyone. He loves going down on girls for so long that they see stars, punching a man until he’s within an inch of his life, and the way it feels when he comes down Seungri’s throat. But not Seunghyun.

 

Never Seunghyun.

 

Youngbae is losing articles of clothing like the cherry trees lose their blossoms in the Spring: lovely and gracefully. A natural progression. There are two girls--one underneath each arm--and they are enamored with his playfulness the same way Jiyong is enamored with watching him. They don’t know him, though. They don’t know that he looks the most beautiful when he’s spinning out on a dirt road, hair and dust in his eyes as the world swirls around him like a hurricane and he manages to save their lives by the grace of someone’s god and his own talent.

 

Jiyong knows that. He also knows that he can always look, but never touch.

 

“Are you done playing around?” Jiyong asks when Youngbae and his ladies join him on the couch across from where he sits. He tries not to let his irritation show but the question comes out dripping with acid as he notices Youngbae’s shirt is unbuttoned.

 

Youngbae just smirks and leans in close, elbows on his knees, eyes staring into Jiyong like they are the only people in the world.

 

“Are you?” he whispers back challengingly.

 

Jiyong can only gulp.

 

Youngbae _wants_ him to touch.

 

He’s never made a damn secret of it but Youngbae’s a man with a peculiar set of morals. He’ll break international laws six ways to Sunday and tease Jiyong incessantly but he will never let the thin man so much as kiss him as long as Jiyong’s got a fiance.

 

So this is it.

 

It's probably one of their last nights of freedom before Jiyong has to give it all up. Stop playing international criminal and come home. Marry the daughter of a mafia boss to ensure his family remains on top of food chain. Make his daddy proud.

 

This is the boys’ last job and it might be the last time Jiyong will ever get to watch Youngbae be. He’s probably staying in California.

 

“Where the hell is T.O.P.?” comes Seungri’s voice from behind them. He’s tugging at his suit jacket and straightening his tie and Jiyong thinks that no one should look so damn composed and perfect after just having had a threesome.

 

“He was just over at the bar,” Jiyong turns around to face Seungri fully because Youngbae and one of the girls have started to kiss and Jiyong hates nothing more than something not being _his_. The edge of the playing card in his hands tears at the skin between his fingers.

 

“Well, he’s not there now and he’s supposed to have the suitcase,” Seungri says, voice calm and even as he smiles at yet another unsuspecting beauty making their drunken way towards him.

 

“He’ll turn up,” Youngbae brushes the whole thing off with a smile as he grabs the taller girl’s hand and pulls her to stand. When they jump into the pool, Youngbae is laughing like a child and the girl is screeching with embarrassment but Jiyong knows she’ll still sleep with him. They always do.

 

Seungri raises an eyebrow at Jiyong as he struts over to sit in the space Youngbae and his girls have just vacated. Jiyong wishes he would leave. He’s too perceptive, too calm and the white of his hair against his skin is off-putting. Jiyong’s not used to it yet. The blue contact lenses are like ice and Jiyong thinks that no one fits that image better than ruthless Seungri.

 

“You shouldn’t stare so much,” Seungri says as he motions at the waitress for a drink. “He likes it.”

 

Jiyong rolls his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

 

Seungri lights a cigarette. “It gets him off. How bad you want him. How much control he has over you.”

 

“He can’t even be bothered to comb his hair most days, I don’t think whether or not I want to fuck him makes it very high on his list of priorities.” Jiyong bristles indignantly and struggles not to let his anger show. Tries not to look for Youngbae in the pool.

 

Seungri's ice eyes narrow into slits and he laughs. “You’re wrong. He’s taking off that girl’s panties in the pool as we speak and I can guarantee you that half the fun is the fact that he knows you’ll eventually look over and watch him. You can’t help yourself.”

 

Jiyong frowns. “Where’s the suitcase?” he asks, trying to change the subject and trying his damn hardest not to look in the fucking pool.

 

“T.O.P. has it and he’s having a bad night so you’re going to have to look for him.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“I’m doing you a favor,” Seungri says, accepting a martini from the waitress. “Have you learned nothing from our hyung? Nothing drives a man as crazy as when you don’t pay attention to him. Get up from this chair and don’t look at Taeyang. I guarantee you’ll have him in your room tomorrow morning.”

 

Seungri doesn’t know that Jiyong’s already tried. It’s been about three years of this game and Youngbae never gives in, no matter how drunk, no matter how horny, no matter how sad.

 

“You’re engaged,” he always gasps in the moment before their lips brush. He always pushes Jiyong away.

 

“Besides, you know you’re the only one he listens to.”

 

And that’s true. Jiyong’s talked Seunghyun off of rooftops and out of police headquarters alike. Seunghyun’s insane--always teetering on the edge--and Jiyong knows the magic string of words to ease his madness because Jiyong feels it, too. He’s just better at hiding it.

 

“Fine,” Jiyong sighs out. He’s tired as hell but still kind of pissed that this is how his night will end. No warm body in his bed, no drugs to make him forget. The responsible one in their mismatched group. The appointed leader.

 

He doesn’t look at Youngbae as he leaves the pool area but he hears Youngbae’s girl panting above the splashing sounds and it hurts just the same.

 

The hallway of the penthouse is a mess, and Jiyong has to sidestep spilled drinks, discarded clothing and some passed out party-goers. The first room he goes into is dark and it takes a moment to make out the shape of a woman’s legs thrown over Daesung’s tanned shoulders. Jiyong closes the door.

 

Seunghyun probably saw, too. He’s probably in some corner, curled into a ball, bemoaning his fate as a constant lover of a summer wind or some weird shit like that. Hopefully, he’ll be passed out.

 

Hopefully, he’ll still have the suitcase.

 

 _Of course he will_ , Jiyong thinks. Seunghyun’s fucking crazy but he’s not an idiot. He knows they’d kill him.

 

When Jiyong finds Seunghyun, he’s on the floor, a stream of blood slowly seeping down his forehead and it’s clear there was a struggle. There are two guys in suits passed out in different spots in the room. They look worse than Seunghyun.

 

Jiyong doesn’t panic, though. He grins.

 

Seunghyun’s got the suitcase wrapped tightly in his drunken arms.

 

* * *

 

It’s a rapid knocking that awakes Jiyong.

 

He’s startled awake and he grabs his gun from the nightstand before he even thinks about it. He points it at the door and unlocks it.

 

Youngbae’s standing in the hallway, his hair mussed from sleep and a woman’s fingers, a smile on his smug face. He raises an eyebrow at the gun and waltzes into the room, not asking for permission or forgiveness.

 

“You left the party pretty early last night,” Youngbae says, nonchalantly, as he takes in the sight of Jiyong’s hotel room.

 

“T.O.P. was attacked. Needed some first aid.” Jiyong decides to leave out the part about how he spent three hours with a wrecked Seunghyun as he screamed and screamed.

 

“I saw him this morning, he’s got a nasty gash on his forehead.”

 

When Youngbae speaks, his lip piercing catches the light and Jiyong wants to ask him if the point was to make it impossible not to imagine him sucking his dick. “Why are you here?” he asks instead.

 

Youngbae’s pacing around the room. He can never keep still. “Seungri got a message. The drop off point.”

 

Jiyong walks closer to Youngbae as the shorter man begins to pack his bag for him, neatly. He doesn't ask if it's okay to touch Jiyong's belongings and the way he folds the clothes is almost reverent. Youngbae takes his time, a silence settling between them, and Jiyong can't help but notice how careful he is with Jiyong's things, especially considering the jumbled mess that is always his own luggage.

 

“So that’s it then,” Jiyong’s voice comes out quiet and raspy.

 

“Maybe,” Youngbae says, a serious look coming over his features. “Seungri says it sounds suspicious. He thinks we’re being set up.”

 

“Why?” Jiyong’s listening--sure--but something about Youngbae is particularly distracting in this moment.

 

Youngbae starts as Jiyong crosses the line, stands too close to him for friendly comfort, breathes down his neck. Jiyong aches to touch.

 

“He thinks someone knows this is our last job,” Youngbae whispers in the sudden, tension-filled quietness.

 

“It’s not our last job. Just mine,” Jiyong whispers, too, but it’s no secret.

 

“It’s our last job together,” Youngbae says as he spins around to face Jiyong and now their faces are so close--too close.

 

Too far.

 

“You won’t miss me, will you, gorgeous?” Jiyong is in love with the way he can see the shiver travel up Youngbae’s spine, the dangerous glint in his eye and in that damn new piercing.

 

“I missed you last night,” he shoots back as a breathy sigh because he knows how much Jiyong loves it when he plays the delicate little flower.

 

“You seemed busy,” Jiyong takes a step back and puts a hand in his pocket, searching for the deck of cards that isn’t there.

 

Youngbae looks up through his lashes as he takes a step forward and places the tip of his index finger against Jiyong’s chin. “I’m never too busy for you.”

 

“You were too busy fucking someone else to talk to me.”

 

Youngbae smirks. “So you _did_ see.”

 

Jiyong wants to bite down on Youngbae’s finger. He wants to reach out and pull him close by the belt loops of his tight-fitting trousers. He wants to kiss him until they are breathless and a little insane--until their lips are raw and swollen. And then he wants to fuck him.

 

But instead Jiyong keeps his hands in his pockets and plays with a fraying edge inside the lining.

 

He won’t touch him.

 

Because Jiyong is only allowed to look.

 

So he does.

 

He stares at Youngbae’s round ass as he saunters away, out of the room.

 

Hates to see him go but loves to watch him leave or some shit.

 

Damn.

 

 

* * *

 

When they are sitting in the hotel restaurant and waiting for the others, Jiyong asks Daesung about it.

 

“I don’t fuck men,” he says, husky voice filled with annoyance.

 

“You fuck Seungri.”

 

“Seungri sucks me off, it’s not the same.”

 

“What about that tall guy? Chunhee?”

 

“I thought you guys needed the information.”

 

“Taeyang said you looked like you enjoyed it,” Jiyong inhales from a cigarette.

 

Daesung barks out a laugh that rings out above the din of the hotel guests. “Taeyang needs to keep his mouth shut. He’s got the girliest ass I’ve ever seen and if he keeps talking shit, I’ll fuck him hard enough to shut him up for a week.”

 

Jiyong takes a sip of his coffee. Looks away at the wrong moment.

 

“Especially if you won’t.”

 

Jiyong sighs as he leans back. Does everyone fucking know? “I asked you about Seunghyun.”

 

“And I’m telling you that you need to fuck that boy before you leave. Just one time, really give it to him." Daesung leans back in his chair, hair falling over his eyes as he grins widely. "Or let him give it to you," he adds, as an afterthought. "It doesn’t matter.”

 

“You know he’s obsessed with you,” Jiyong wants to steer them back onto the subject at hand.

 

“I know.”

 

“He loves you.”

 

A little smile graces Daesung’s sinful lips. “I know.”

 

“And underneath all the crazy, he’s hot as hell. He’s so gone on you he’d let you do anything to him.”

 

“Do you want me to fuck him?”

 

“I just don’t want to hear all the ‘woe is me’ bullshit anymore.”

 

“You won’t have to in a few days,” Daesung reasons. “You’ll be home and married and you’ll never have to hear from any of us again.”

 

For some reason, the thought makes Jiyong pause. His eyebrows knit together as he contemplates, fingers scratching against the ceramic cup in his hand.

 

“So you should be worried about yourself and not me,” Daesung finishes as he takes out a lollipop from his jacket pocket and unwraps it.

 

“I just don’t understand why you won’t give him a chance,” Jiyong says sincerely.

 

Daesung shrugs. “Probably the same reason you can’t fuck Taeyang.”

 

“You’ve got a wife waiting for you somewhere, too?” Jiyong jokes.

 

Daesung sits back and lets out a deep breath. Looks around the restaurant for a moment before speaking again.

 

“It would hurt too much,” he finally says and suddenly there’s a silence encapsulating them as Jiyong and Daesung meet each other’s eyes.

 

The moment--breath-taking in its brevity and its magnitude--passes. Daesung's smile is set firmly back in place. 

 

“Besides if you’d ever eaten pussy, you’d understand. A woman’s body, man, especially her cunt, is a goddamn miracle. It’s the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.”

 

Jiyong laughs but Daesung doesn’t sound like he’s joking. He’s got a contented grin on his face, like he’s the wisest of them all. Maybe Jiyong should start thinking more like him.

 

* * *

 

Seunghyun’s in the bathroom of his hotel room. He’s hungover and brilliant--painting the mirror with toothpaste equations that Jiyong will never understand.

 

Seunghyun has numbers spinning in his head, perfect symmetry and patterns in his veins and blood, and it’s worth the shit-show his broken heart inevitably brings to their operation because he figures out through logic and statistics that it’s not a set up.

 

Seunghyun’s calculations are never wrong.

 

Neither are Jiyong’s.

 

It takes exactly one minute for Seunghyun to ask about Daesung.

 

“He’s fine,” Jiyong answers. “Having fucking brunch with Taeyang.”

 

“Is Seungri there?” Seunghyun’s eyes are wide and terrifying.

 

“I don’t know. Probably.”

 

Jiyong half expects Seunghyun to punch the glass of the mirror, but instead, he stares at his reflection. His eyes follow the trail of blood that dried on his forehead. It makes Jiyong uncomfortable.

 

“You should leave her. Break off the engagement.”

 

Jiyong laughs and pulls out two cigarettes and his lighter. Hands one of the cigarettes to Seunghyun, who takes it without breaking the staring contest with the mirror.

 

“And disappoint Daddy Dearest? No thanks. I’m too old for this shit anyhow.”

 

Seunghyun purses his lips. “You’re lucky, you know.”

 

Jiyong pulls out his deck of cards from his suit jacket pocket and shuffles them as he smokes his cigarette with his other hand. “That’s why Seungri hired me.”

 

“I don’t mean your talent at cheating,” Seunghyun says, sighing as he turns from his reflection and sits on the bathroom sink. “Although I do find it ironic that you’ve found the one scenario where you can’t.”

 

Jiyong snorts as he lights Seunghyun's cigarette. Everyone _does_ know. “So what makes me lucky then?”

 

Seunghyun laughs humorlessly. “Isn’t it obvious? The object of your affection wants you back. You’re the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“He’s not gay, Seunghyun,” Jiyong ventures into unknown territory by not using their codenames. “There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve got to get over it.”

 

“He’s gay for Seungri,” Seunghyun tilts his head back against the glass and exhales the smoke in a long, puffy cylinder.

 

“Everyone’s gay for Seungri. It’s just sex with them and you wouldn’t want something like that with him. You couldn’t do it. It would kill you.”

 

“I don’t care,” Seunghyun’s deep voice sounds exhausted. “Do you know how much it hurts to know that your beloved sees you as nothing more than an annoyance?”

 

“That’s not what he thinks--”

 

“Do you know?” Seunghyun suddenly screams, his face red with anger and his eyes deranged. “Do you know how much it hurts to not be able to touch?”

 

In a heartbeat, Seunghyun's off the sink and shoving Jiyong against the wall, screaming in his face. His deep voice echoes off of the clean white tiles; Jiyong shuts his eyes and tries not to panic. Seunghyun keeps asking him if he knows, if he knows, and it strikes Jiyong that maybe Daesung meant something different when he said that it would hurt.

 

“I do,” Jiyong finally shouts back and Seunghyun freezes. Jiyong repeats, more quietly this time, “I do know.”

 

Seunghyun and Jiyong are sucking in deep gulps of breath, trying to will their bodies into relaxation once again. Their cigarettes are on the ground, still lit. The smoke rises softly. 

 

“Then you should know how stupid it is,” Seunghyun sighs, running a hand though his knotted hair. 

 

“How stupid what is?” Jiyong asks, but he knows.

 

“Not to touch while you can.”

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long to have Youngbae in his bed.

 

One little lie is all it takes and, honestly, Jiyong’s not even sorry.

 

“I called her,” Jiyong says, out of breath from rushing from Seunghyun’s hotel room to his own, shocked to find Youngbae there. The lie just rolled so easily from his tongue and he almost can’t believe it’s taken him this long to try what comes easiest to him. “I told her it’s over. The engagement. The whole thing.”

 

Youngbae smiles a sunny grin that makes guilt and lust stir in the pit of Jiyong’s stomach. He rushes across the room and into Jiyong’s arms.

 

They knock against the closed door, making a muffled thud, and Jiyong can’t stop smiling even as he kisses. Youngbae’s lips are softer than he’d imagined and the hard metal of his piercing is warm and alluring. Having this man in his arms feels more natural than breathing.

 

Youngbae isn’t quiet. He moans and gasps at all the right moments--he reacts to every kiss and every bite so enthusiastically and so unashamed. Jiyong doesn’t know how he’s going to give this up tomorrow. They haven’t even taken off their clothes and Jiyong is already too far gone.

 

This is too much--it’s too hot--and Youngbae is too fucking needy for him. He thrashes against the sheets and pulls on Jiyong’s hair roughly.

 

“I’ve wanted you for so long, gorgeous,” Jiyong says, as he slides into Youngbae and makes them both cry out.

 

“Me, too, baby,” Youngbae half-groans, half-breathes and Jiyong has heard him call dozens of girls by the same name but none of that matters now. “For _so_ long.”

 

What matters now is that Youngbae helps him reach their peak in a matter of minutes. Zero to sixty. Fast and unrelenting, just like how he drives.

 

In the aftermath, on the ruined bedsheets, Jiyong thinks about telling Youngbae the truth.

 

Youngbae takes that moment to look over at him and smile, so Jiyong doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Jiyong was sort of expecting their last job to be more exciting. More epic.

 

He thought Seunghyun would be wrong this time.

 

But he’s not.

 

The drop off wasn’t a set up and Seungri takes off with some flight attendant for a few weeks of what he calls a vacation. Jiyong knows him, though. Seungri’s not going to rest until he’s got the girl begging for another spanking and another safeword.

 

He’s gone in the morning, while the others are still asleep. Jiyong’s in Youngbae’s bed because he’s let him fuck him again.

 

Seunghyun is slumped outside of Daesung’s door.

 

Daesung leaves next.

 

Some London gangster needs some brawn that doesn’t look like a threat and Seungri told him he knows just the guy. Daesung’s always wanted to go to England. To see the Eiffel Tower, he jokes but no one laughs except for Youngbae.

 

Jiyong fucks Youngbae again--third night in a row--and he sneaks out to the balcony, where Seunghyun is chain-smoking a pack of cigarettes.

 

Jiyong wants to tell him that there _is_ something worse than not being able to touch; it’s touching and not knowing how to let go.

 

There’s another text message from his father on his phone, though, so he takes it out and types out a quick reply.

 

 _I’m coming home tomorrow_ , Jiyong writes, and it feels like a tragedy.

 

“I think I’ll go to Paris next,” Seunghyun says. Jiyong wants to tell him that Daesung won’t be there.

 

“That sounds good,” he says instead. “You’ve got my contact info if you ever need me.”

 

Seunghyun inhales from his cigarette deeply. “I won’t. I never did.”

 

The next morning, Seunghyun’s already gone, like smoke, and Jiyong can’t find it in himself to leave Youngbae’s arms. He’s got a flight in six hours.

 

Maybe if he can just fuck him one last time…

 

Youngbae’s eyes flutter open delicately and Jiyong thinks about the sunshine through the trees, a summer memory from his childhood. He thinks of all the good things he's lost. Like his innocence.

 

“Good morning,” Youngbae says.

 

“Good morning.” Jiyong’s heart somersaults and makes him want to scream.

 

“I thought you’d be gone by now.”

 

Jiyong kisses his forehead as he whispers, “why?”

 

“Your wedding is in a week.”

 

Jiyong pulls his face back. “You knew?”

 

Youngbae looks away. “You’re a terrible liar, Kwon Jiyong.”

 

“I’m a professional gambler and thief,” Jiyong retorts.

 

“I could always tell when you were bluffing with a shitty hand.”

 

Jiyong blanches because he suddenly realizes that it’s true. “So why did you let me fuck you?”

 

“I figured if you were willing to lie, it must have been pretty damn important to you.”

 

Youngbae starts to rise from the bed but Jiyong rests his weight over him. “What about you? Is it important to you?”

 

“You’re not my man, Jiyong. You can’t be important if you’re just going to leave.”

 

Jiyong runs his fingers through Youngbae’s hair. “And if I didn’t? If I stayed with you in California? Would I be important then?”

 

Youngbae surges up to plant a long, deep kiss on Jiyong’s mouth. The piercing kind of hurts Jiyong's lips.

 

“I'm not going to ask you to stay," Youngbae's lips brush against Jiyong's as he speaks softly and their faces are too close to really see each other. "I shouldn't have to.”

 

It’s the last thing he says to him. His words ring in Jiyong’s ear as they both get up, collect their clothes.

 

They barely look at each other as they pack their bags and move on.

 

 

* * *

 

The airport is huge and Jiyong feels blank. Not sadness, not heartbreak-just a crushing empty void where Youngbae used to be. It’s almost worse.

 

The plane has landed, and the passengers filter out into the unknown and into the familiar and it's kind of touching except that Jiyong’s not sure he ever had a heart.

 

If he did, it’s probably in the trunk of Youngbae’s car.

 

His flight is called to board. He’s in first class, but he waits. People file into the door, rows upon rows or human cargo shepherding themselves along. Bumping into each other, muttering in frustration, apologizing in politeness. It’s a strange sort of phenomenon, how humans klump together even in their travels, and Jiyong is fascinated by the sight. They all file in.

 

Final boarding call.

 

Final boarding call and Jiyong is still in his seat.

 

Final boarding call and it’s so obvious that Seungri, Daesung and Seunghyun were so fucking right.

 

Final boarding call and now the doors are closed, the plane is pulling onto the runway, but Jiyong’s not there to see it.

 

* * *

 

Jiyong is legitimately surprised to find Youngbae outside the airport, leaning against his vintage Mustang, flicking a lighter opened and closed. He bursts into a beautiful grin when he sees Jiyong.

 

Jiyong pulls out a cigarette from his pack and puts it in his mouth, looking at Youngbae as relief dances in their eyes. Youngbae lights the taller man’s cigarette for him in one quick motion.

 

Jiyong knows that it's love, because Youngbae doesn’t smoke.

 

“You knew I’d come back,” Jiyong states, as he blows out the smoke. It’s not a question.

 

“Either that or I was going to have one hell of a day,” Youngbae laughs and Jiyong can’t help but laugh with him.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jiyong chides as walks to the back of the car and opens up the trunk. “Let me tell you something, gorgeous, you’re answering the phone when my dad calls.”

 

“I’m not scared of your dad,” Youngbae laughs even harder. “Besides, you are no longer Kwon Jiyong and I am no longer Dong Youngbae.”

 

“That so?” Jiyong is mesmerized by Youngbae’s chest, visible through the long fringes of his black leather jacket.

 

“I’ve got it all planned out. You and me, baby. Ride or die.”

 

Jiyong rolls his eyes but there's nothing but affection behind the action. “That’s all very romantic, Bonnie and Clyde or whatever, but what the fuck are we going to do about money?”

 

Youngbae smiles and nods towards the trunk.

 

There’s a familiar silver suitcase tucked into a corner.

 

Jiyong whistles appreciatively. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he praises as he hooks a hand around Youngbae’s waist and pulls him close. He can do shit like that now. “You sneaky son of a bitch.”

 

Youngbae kisses him hard and pulls back. “You love me,” he says, lips pursed provocatively.

 

Jiyong doesn’t have to say that it’s true. 

 

Later on, with Youngbae’s foot pressing hard on the gas pedal and the entire world a dusty, tawny blur around them, Jiyong leans back and closes his eyes.

 

The engine roars as Youngbae ignores the speed limit, a loud classic rock tune that Jiyong can't name blasts through the speakers. The windows are rolled down, wind rushing into the car and mussing up their hair. Jiyong opens his eyes and looks at Youngbae, whose been wearing a little smile ever since he managed to lose that patrol car that had been tailing them. Youngbae takes his eyes off the road for just a second to wink at Jiyong. 

 

And Jiyong can only smile as he reaches his hand out of the window. His eyes fall closed again as he opens his hand and lets his deck of cards go slowly. The cards trail out behind them, like holy fire, and even above the roar of their escape, Jiyong can hear Youngbae's amused chuckle. 

 

He’s home.

 

 


End file.
